My Nudity
Feel sad, lonely and unloved? Get the impression that you no longer feature among those things the world considers hip? Got an agent with a small mind and (at) a loose-end? Then get naked. Everyone's doing it. Hell, I'm doing it now. Swaying gently in the breeze. Cut loose. And I love it.
I got the idea from an inspired bunch of jam-making, hymn-singing Northern ladies of a certain age, who, for the worthiest of causes, have taken the world of German trash TV and Kosovo-saturated tabloid editors by storm. The Rylstone and District Women's Institute last week launched a limited run of a calendar for the year 2000 in which the members (aged 45 to 60) perform homely acts in the buff.
The motivation for Miss October (Tricia Stewart, 50) is noble: the proceeds of the sales go to a Leukaemia charity, and the calendar is dedicated to a friend of the WI who died of cancer last year. The effect on the calendar girls, though, has been a transformation. The Sun was immediately interested in a second strip, and was rebuffed: "we aren't doing it again." The face of the WI is changed forever.
Should you want to make the transition from crap soap star to crap singer, get you kegs off. That was my advice to Martine McCutcheon. She took it. As if posing nude for Esquire was a massive departure from her Milan/Tiffany image, McCutcheon has at least joined the illustrious company of Anthea Turner, who also posed naked in a career move which didn't change her career at all. Gerri Halliwell is next, mark my words.
There is a News of the World reporter outside my door now, clamouring for a Full Monty-style jig from myself and my mates. Second-rate, short-lived, lucrative pop career here I come. I think I'll start with a jam-and-coffee morning.